


Hold Tight

by seqular (sequential)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequential/pseuds/seqular
Summary: Dipper's uncharacteristically bundled up in a sweater and jeans, and Ford thinks nothing of it at first.





	Hold Tight

**Author's Note:**

> I was suddenly gripped (eheh >>) by the need to write Ford finding a six-fingered handprint around Dipper’s neck. It's kind of escaped me.
> 
> Heed the tags. Ford handles things terribly, and there's not much comfort in this.

Ford doesn’t think twice when he sees Dipper bundled up in a sweater and jeans in the morning. It’s nearing autumn, now, the wind chilly in the air, and then perhaps the kid is still missing his sister too.

It gets warmer in the afternoon. When they climb up to the roof, in direct line of the sun, to measure some strange radio signals Ford had noticed, Dipper begins to sweat.

“You look like you’re boiling,” Ford comments offhandedly as he adjusts his instruments. Dipper’s jumpy normally, but Ford’s still surprised to find that the comment nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“You’re wearing more than I am, Uncle Ford,” Dipper says, nervously, and Ford decides to let the kid be. He adds another theory to his list - maybe Dipper’s trying to imitate him?

It isn’t until later in the evening, when they’re going through notes in the lamplight of his study, that Ford really thinks about it. Dipper’s craned over his papers in concentration, and with the way his sweater has settled Ford can just barely make out a red mark peeking out from under the collar.

It could be nothing, but then again, he can’t remember anything they’d done recently that would have left that mark, and his nephew _has_ been acting strange.

He places a heavy hand on Dipper’s shoulder as he leans over him to give comments on some notes. Dipper tenses at first, but relaxes slowly, and Ford keeps his hand there even as he leans back again. Slowly, he reaches a thumb out to the collar of the sweater. He just needs to push it back an inch—

Dipper jolts away, but not before Ford can make out the outline of several large fingers against his neck.

“Who left those there?” Ford demands, but Dipper is backing away now, hands clenching the sweater underneath his chin, as if it’s a shield.

“Nobody!” Dipper insists. “I’m—I was just—“

“It’s okay, you can show me,” Ford tells him, trying to keep his voice soothing over the rising bubble of panic. When Dipper continues to back away, he changes tact.

“Dipper!” he snaps, and the boy freezes where he stands, eyes growing impossibly wider in fear. In fear of him?

It doesn’t stop him from advancing, hands splayed out in front of him to show that he means no harm—or perhaps to ready himself to grab the boy if he bolts. He doesn’t, and Ford says, no longer offering but demanding, “Show me what happened.”

“I wanted to test my- my breath control,” Dipper says stutteringly. He’d thought they’d be beyond lies now—doesn’t he know that Ford wants nothing more than to protect him? Dipper’s a smart boy, so he must have his reasons, but Ford can’t just let this go. When he's finally in front of the boy, he grabs hold of his shoulder firmly, allowing no question of whether Dipper can just avoid this.

“It’s okay,” he says, and Dipper shakes his head, but doesn’t resist as Ford pulls aside the collar of his sweater. It’s a handprint, swollen and pink, wrapped around the perimeter of Dipper’s neck. The boy’s so small that the finger and thumb prints overlap.

And when Ford counts the fingers with a sinking sense of dread, he comes up with one extra.

“I had it under control. He’s—he’s gone now, and I got what I wanted out of him,” Dipper starts, trying to explain. There’s no question who he’s referring to, and Ford’s mind is whirling with questions, but forefront in his mind is this: Dipper was covering his legs today, too.

“What else did he do?” Ford asks in a low voice, cutting off Dipper’s babbling. “Show me!”

The boy stares at him, and lifts his hands to the hem of his sweater. His arms are trembling visibly as he pauses there, frozen. Then, he wraps his arms tight around himself and shakes his head.

“It’s done, Ford,” Dipper says, his voice exhausted and small. "It's fine. Just let me be."

The hurt in his voice makes Ford sick. He wants to comfort the boy and let this go, he really does, but—he needs to know. He reaches first for the boy’s sweater, tugging it over his head. There are small bruises, and a swollen area around his chest, though none are quite as distinct as the one around his neck. Dipper is covering his eyes now, his mouth clenched shut as if he’s afraid of what noises he’ll make.

As Ford reaches for his zipper and undoes it, finally, a sob breaks loose.

 

 

(“That’s right, Dipper,” Ford had said, his hand caressing Dipper’s face, “you can finally have this.”

He’d known it wasn’t Ford, had wanted it anyway. Shut his eyes against the cruel gleam in his eyes, closed his mind against the cackling laughter that rang in his ears.

When Bill wrapped a hand around his neck, he’d cried out, clinging to that hand. “Wait, wait—this isn’t—"

“I’ll give you what you want,” Bill said, then tightened his hand, “but I never said we’d do it your way.”

Would Ford wake up from this, if he screamed loud enough? He clenched his teeth so he wouldn't find out.)


End file.
